


Operation Riding the Rails West for Christmas

by Nutriyum_Addict



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Christmas, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Sharing a Bed, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:05:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutriyum_Addict/pseuds/Nutriyum_Addict
Summary: It's a few days before Christmas 1948 and Leslie Knope is asked to take a leave of absence from her job after a scandal with co-worker Mark Brendanawicz. Add to this a historic document that she accidentally (on purpose) takes with her when she leaves, a serendipitous meeting with history professor Ben Wyatt, and a train ride west to discover the fate of one of Pawnee's first trailblazing feminists.





	1. We need to stop meeting like this.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookworm03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookworm03/gifts).



> Holiday fic for bookwormm03 because she is an utter delight!! 
> 
> It kind of got out of control...oops.

**December 21st, 1948**

" _Miss Knope, I think you should take some time off. Effective immediately_."

Those horrific words were still echoing in her ears as loudly as they had two hours ago, when Leslie's boss Ron Swanson had first spoken them.

Well, that's not exactly true. Now as she gazed out the bus window at the light dusting of snow on the sidewalks passing by, Leslie was also hearing loud circus music in her head.

Fired.

Mr. Swanson had as good as fired her.

Meanwhile, Mark Brendanawicz might as well have gotten a parade, along with a few knowing grins and some claps on the back from the men at City Hall. He'd probably even get a raise. But her? Apparently, her reputation was ruined, she might as well be unemployed, and to top it all off, she was on her way to a library.

Oh and technically, she was also a thief.

There's just no way this day could get any worse.

* * * *

"What do you mean I can't look at the newspaper archives?" Leslie asked in disbelief.

"Sorry, Miss. The archives are for male students and professors only," the librarian told her and then added, "Maybe you have a note from a professor granting you access?"

Ever since she left Pawnee and boarded the bus for Bloomington, the piece of paper in her pocket felt like it was burning a hole right through the thick wool of her winter coat.

Before she'd left City Hall in disgrace, how could Leslie not have liberated the historic letter that she'd found buried in the City Archives up on the fourth floor last week? No one there cared about it, the head archivist, grumpy Melvin Lerpiss, was about to use it for a piece of scrap paper for his solitaire score, for goodness sake.

She'd saved a valuable piece of written history from that fate, and today it was still at her desk when Mr. Swanson had strongly encouraged her to leave the office until at least the new year. So, of course the letter had left the building with her.

_Oopsie-daisy._

It was penned by Dorothy Everton Smythe and written to a neighbor in 1916, right before Miss Smythe was run out of town for good. After the four years she'd spent in jail for wearing pants on a Sunday, one of Pawnee's most infamous female citizens had left a message for a friend, packed up her law-breaking traveling trousers, and headed west before the mob chased her out.

Leslie felt like she understood a bit how Dorothy must have been feeling.

Not only that, but now she wanted to know where the woman had gone and what had happened to her after she left Pawnee.

Leslie had thought that maybe the Pawnee Journal newspaper might have a mention of where Dorothy was heading back in 1916. She'd meant to spend her weekend doing some research into it, but she suddenly had some free time on her hands.

According to the Journal's office, the only place to look at their old newspapers was the Indiana University library archives, which was why she was standing here, mere feet from the cabinets of old newspapers that she needed to review, blocked by a... _librarian_.

"But I...I used to be a student here! I was in the class of 1943! I even had a scholarship! The _Indiana scholarship for Pretty Blondes Who Like to Read_! Look it up, there must be a list somewhere!"

The librarian raised an eyebrow at her. "And you weren't a male student, correct?"

Leslie huffed. "No. Of course not."

"Well, then. I need a note from a professor granting you access to the state newspaper archives."

"A male professor, I suppose," she said under her breath, annoyance radiating off her small yet fierce frame. She tried to make herself look bigger. Maybe she could intimidate him?

The man started laughing. "Yes a male professor, young lady. Don't be ridiculous."

"This is a load of applesauce! I'm a citizen of Indiana! This is a public university! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME FROM--"

"Hey, Paul. Is there a problem?"

Both Leslie and the librarian turned at the intrusion, to see a man walking towards them. He was wearing a dark suit with a wide, fashionable tie and he had a mess of crazy, thick hair. It was cut short at the ends but it was still all askew, like he'd just taken off a hat, messed it all up, and didn't care enough to straighten it out.

"Professor Wyatt. No, problem here. I was telling this young lady that she needed permission from faculty to enter the newspaper archives room."

"Oh," the man looked surprised. "Well, um, can I do that?"

"You'll take responsibility if she messes anything--"

"I'm not going to mess anything up!" Leslie interrupted. "I'm researching! I'm a researcher!"

The professor looked like he was trying not to laugh. "She's just researching, Paul. It's fine."

The librarian made a face, but grabbed his clipboard and handed it to the man. "You'll need to sign her in."

He took the pen and Leslie watched as he signed his name: Professor Ben Wyatt, History Department.

"That it?" He handed the clipboard back.

"I suppose," the librarian stepped aside, finally letting Leslie pass.

"So, what are you looking for?"

She stopped and turned around. Of course Professor Ben Wyatt was right there, he had followed her into the room.

"You can relax. I'm not going to mess anything up."

"I believe you. But I’m curious about what was so important that a past recipient of the Indiana University _Scholarship for Pretty Blondes Who Like to Read_ looked like she was about to kick a librarian in the shin."

He was absolutely smirking at her as he said all of that.

When she first saw him, she couldn't quite tell his age, he looked a bit like a fuddy-duddy to be honest, but now in the light of the newspaper room, he didn't seem all that much older than she was--twenty-seven. He also had warm brown eyes and a bit of light scuff on his face. Actually, he kind of reminded her a little bit of Mark. Ugh.

"He deserved to be almost kicked," Leslie replied finally. "I shouldn't need permission to come in here, this is my alma mater. And it shouldn't matter that I'm a woman. That's a stupid rule."

"It is," Ben nodded. "You have as much right to do research in this library as any other former student or Indiana citizen. It's a public university."

She was taken back at first, she hadn't expected him to agree with her. "I know! I'm looking for issues of the Pawnee Journal newspaper, from June to December 1916."

"The Pawnee Journal," he repeated and started walking down an aisle of filing cabinets. Ben stopped suddenly and turned around. "Pawnee. Hey, isn't their town slogan _the factory fire capital of the world_?"

Leslie nodded. "Yeah, right now, but it changes frequently."

She followed and somehow found herself staring at Professor Wyatt's backside. It was a very nice backside.

Goodness, where did that come from?

Leslie adverted her gaze the rest of the way to the cabinets.

"That should be...here. Um, it looks like 1916 starts down there."

She looked where he was pointing. "Thanks. I can. take it from here. I'm going to start--"

"Researching?" Ben guessed.

Leslie smiled and nodded.

"Listen, if you need a break later, maybe we could grab a sandwich or something? I'm going to be upstairs in a study room working on some lecture notes."

The professor seemed nice, but she was still smarting a bit from last month's disgrace. "Thank you, but no thank you. I have a lot of work to do and I can't be distracted right now."

He looked slightly disappointed, but then he smiled warmly and gave her a little bow. "I'll leave you to it then."

* * * * *

_Dear Lorraine:_

_As I write this, I'm packing up my belongings and heading west to start a new life._

_The reporters keep pestering me about my time in jail and I feel like I can't be happy here. Do I regret wearing pants that one fateful Sunday? Not really, although I would have preferred to not have been thrown in jail for four years because of it._

_I will try to send word once I am settled._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Dorothy_

"So, that's the letter?" Ann asked later that day, after Leslie got back to Pawnee.

"Yes. They might as well have thrown it out! The Pawnee Historical Society didn't want it and the City Archives didn't seem to care either. So I--"

"Stole it?" Ann guessed, handing the old letter back to Leslie.

"Well, I was going to say borrowed it. But _liberated_ would also work."

They were in the formal parlor of the Perkins' home, and since Ann's parents were both out finalizing their holiday travel plans, it was just the two of them.

Ann smiled. "How are you? How are you really?"

Ann knew about the incident with Mark. Ann knew all about it. She needed to tell someone right afterward and her best friend certainly got an earful. Ann was still unmarried too and she hung onto Leslie's every word as she described everything in detail.

Not that there seemed to be that much to describe. There was kissing and some fumbling and then it was pretty uncomfortable. She hardly even saw anything. Then it was over.

But now, her friend was once again regarding her with a concerned expression.

"I'm alright," Leslie assured her. "I spent the day in Bloomington at the Indiana University library--"

"Right," Ann continued. "Researching the newspaper archives. Did you find anything?"

Leslie nodded excitedly. "Yes. There was an article, she went west on October 12, 1916! To Montana."

"Oh, well, good for her. That's brave."

"You think so?"

"Oh definitely. She wasn't happy with her life here and so she took matters into her own hands."

"She did, didn't she?" Leslie mused.

Her goal this morning had been to find the end to Dorothy's story, but was Pawnee really the end? Or was it just the beginning?

And what about Leslie, was this her story? To be involved in a scandal with a bold suit wearing jerk-face City Planner who went around sticking his man parts into ladies without any intent of marrying them? Was she really supposed to mope around and wait for everyone to quit talking about her in hushed voices? Leslie had a lot of questions lately.

"So, are you and your mother visiting your family friends in Eagleton for Christmas?" Ann asked.

Leslie sighed. "We're supposed to, but I don't want to go. I hate it there, it's so snooty. Plus, I think she's a little disappointed in me, I can tell. She's not mad exactly, but I know she's not happy. You know, about the situation with Mark."

Marlene Knope didn't seem to be of the opinion that her daughter was ruined, but at the same time, she did make it clear to Leslie that finding a husband now would be even more difficult.

Ann smiled sympathetically. "You should come to Michigan with me instead. We're taking the train out of Chicago tomorrow afternoon."

"Would your parents mind?"

"Of course not! My parents love you. Plus, I don't think they've heard about the _you-know-what_ with _you-know-who_ situation."

Holidays with the Perkins were always lovely. A big tree, loads of presents, really amazing food. Over the last fifteen or so years, Leslie and her mother had spent a number of Christmases with Ann and her family.

"Or..." Leslie started, but then stopped before her mouth could get ahead of her.

That was how she got into problems on occasion--her mouth acting like a cement block on a big runaway steamroller, saying things like, ' _oh yes, Mark, of course I'd like another glass of champagne.' 'Oh yes, let's do go to your house so you can show me your ashtray collection_.'

"Or?" Ann asked.

Leslie threw caution to the wind and started up the steamroller anyway. "Or I could go with you to the train station in Chicago but instead of going to Michigan, I get on a train heading west! To Montana!"

"What? Wait. Montana?" Her friend looked both surprised and skeptical.

"Don't you see, Ann? It's perfect! I continue my research into the life of Dorothy Everton Smythe! I could retrace her steps and find out what happened to her!"

Ann frowned. "Wait a minute. How old was she went she left in 1916?"

"Fifty-three."

"Leslie, it's 1948. She might not...be with us any longer. That would make her eighty-five today, that's very old for a living person. Especially one with Pawnee eating habits."

Ann was a nurse, the best nurse in the whole world, but she might not be right about that.

Of course yes, Dorothy would be eighty-five, Ann's math was correct there, but that didn't mean that Dorothy had to be dead. Maybe she had really good genes? Even if she was gone, Leslie could probably still find someone that could tell her if Dorothy had a happy life after she left Pawnee.

Suddenly, Leslie really, really needed to know the answer to that question.

"I've made up my mind, Ann. I'm going to Montana tomorrow! I'll have my Christmas on the road this year! Riding the rails west!"

"Oh, Leslie, I'm not sure--"

"Shhhh, Ann," Leslie moved closer and gave her best friend a big hug. "Ann, you beautiful moonpie. Your quiet support means the world to me. As well as your tacit endorsement of all my plans."

" _Butwhataboutyourjob? Youloveyourjob_?" Ann's voice was muffled by Leslie's chest, where her face was currently smooshed.

"I do," Leslie agreed. "But I'm taking some time off. Now I just need to go home and pack."

* * * * *

Eventually, Ann came around to _Operation Riding the Rails West for Christmas_.

In fact, her friend had loaned her some money to procure a private sleeper car on the way there and had given Leslie some money for the same accommodations on the way back too.

They made the reservation by telephone in Pawnee and when they got to Chicago, the women shared a quick hug in the crowded train station before Leslie gave the Perkins clan the slip to find her own westbound train, rather than the one heading northeast to Michigan.

It had all worked perfectly. That is until about two minutes ago.

"You have got to be joking. This is my sleeper car compartment. I have a ticket, already paid for. It's mine!" Leslie practically shouted.

She was making a scene, a full-on commotion on the boarding platform for Empire Builder train west, but she couldn't help it. People were starting to gather and watch, but she didn't care.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair lately.

The train conductor continued to stare at her, unmoved by her outburst. "I can assure you that I am not. Are you traveling with your husband? Maybe your father? A Mr. Leslie Knope? He's the one who bought the ticket."

Rage. She felt pure rage. After all of this and she wasn't even going to get to board the train.

She tried again. "But it's my private Pullman sleeper car bedroom! I have a reservation and everything! It's all paid for! You can't just--"

Suddenly, someone was standing next to her, very close to her.

"Darling, you beat me here."

What?

What was happening?

Leslie turned towards the somewhat familiar voice and...it was that professor. The one from Indiana University--Ben Wyatt. He was standing right there in his stupid dark coat, with his dumb brown eyes and messed up hair, staring amusedly at her.

And still, he had no hat on. It was winter, where was the man's hat?

"You're Mr. Leslie Knope?" The train man asked, looking a bit skeptical.

"I am. And this is my wife...um, Esther."

"Oh. Yes, that's me. I'm Esther Knope. I married him. Leslie. Right here." She said quickly, deciding to go along with the ruse. And then she kept going, "We were childhood sweethearts that stood by each other through thick and thin. He's kind of a bad boy with a heart of gold. I'm a gymnast who--"

Ben clutched at her hand and squeezed hard, even as he nodded and interrupted. "I believe my wife has the ticket for our, what was that dear, our private Pullman sleeper car bedroom?"

Leslie started nodding too. She tried to hand over her ticket again with her free hand, the one that Professor Wyatt wasn't clutching onto. This time, the conductor took her ticket.

"It only says one passenger. Leslie Knope. It appears that you forgot to include your wife Esther on the reservation."

"Oh. Yes. Um, well, can I do that now?"

"One-way bedroom on the sleeper car to Billings, Montana. That's an extra $28 for your wife. Plus the 15% federal government transportation tax, of course."

Ben let out a long whistle beside her before he let go of Leslie's hand and got his wallet out.

"Oh, okay. I think I have..." she watched as her _husband_ started counting out bills and some change. He handed over $32.20. "There. Can we go to our room now?"

"I suppose so," the conductor stepped aside. "That way please, up the steps and to the right. Room number five."

Ben had let go of her hand and picked up her suitcase, carrying it along with his. Neither spoke as they boarded the train and found the correct sleeper car.

But when he shut the compartment's door behind them, he sounded way too tickled by the serendipitous circumstances for her liking. "We need to stop meeting like this. Miss Knope. Miss Leslie Knope."

"How did you even know it was me?"

Ben laughed. "You're kind of hard to forget. To be honest, I recognized your shoes first," he paused and Leslie looked down at the bright red pumps on her feet. She had been wearing those the other day at the library too. "Plus," he continued. "When you started yelling, I really knew it was you."

She sighed. She had been fairly cranky lately. "But what are you doing here? On the train?"

"Oh, I'm heading to Minnesota to visit my family. For Christmas. You're actually going to Montana, huh?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'll be on the train overnight, we pull into Partridge mid-morning," Ben said, looking around the small compartment. "Looks like we'll be a little cozy in here."

Leslie's eyes widened but then she got a hold of herself, refusing to be swindled out of her own sleeping car. "Well, that's just fine. You'll notice there's only one small couch. That folds down to the bed at night. The _one_ bed."

Now it was the professor's turn to look uncomfortable. "Oh, well, um..."

"I do hope you don't snore," Leslie told him, and then turned to unbutton her coat, remove it, and set it down on the small sofa.

Well, well, well, how the tables seemed to have turned, she thought. Now Professor Wyatt was the one seeming uncomfortable. Check and mate.

"I was just trying to help you out, really. I'm not going to--"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Going to _what_?"

"Um, look, we can...I mean," he sighed, visibly flustered now. "I was only teasing you a little at first. We can pretend to get into a spat and I'll go out to the coach car, I have a seat reserved out there anyway. I won't stay in here overnight. You know, with you. I'd be a perfect gentleman if I did, of course, but I don't want to, um, do anything to tarnish your virtue."

"Ha! Too late, buddy!" Oh no, did she say that out loud?

Ben made a face. "Ha? Too late?"

Leslie thought quickly. "Oh, I mean, ha, it's fine, It's too late because...married. I'm uh, married."

Ben's eyes widened at her small lie. "What? Then where's your actual hus--"

"No. No. I mean, I _was_ married. That's my reputation. Yep. I'm a widow. He died. In an explosion at the new rubber nipple factory back in Pawnee. Yeah. Dead. He's dead. So very dead to me. Also so many parts. They found parts of him in Eagleton, even. His stupid man parts."

Was it possible for Ben's eyes to get even wider? Why yes. Yes, it was. "His...man parts?"

Now it was Leslie's turn to blush. "No! His feet! I just meant his feet. I don't know what happened to his...penis. Or his testicles."

"Alright," Ben said slowly, nodding, still looking a little shocked and confused.

Oh, what the applesauce? She was on the lam with a stolen document and she wasn't even a virgin anymore. She was a rebel, a lady-explorer with a private sleeper car on a westbound locomotive and an unexpected companion of the opposite sex.

Apparently, Leslie Knope was now also the kind of woman who said words like _penis_ and _testicles_ to a man she hardly knew.

She narrowed her eyes, willing herself to stop feeling the rush of heat to her face. "Are you impressed that I know they're called? The parts in the _groinal region_. Penis. Testicles."

Slowly, the professor's grimace turned to another one of his amused smiles. "Um sure. Although, I also would have also accepted _testes_."

Leslie frowned. "What's that?"

"Another word for testicles. Okay, that's fine. We can change the subject now."

"Why Esther?" Leslie asked, changing the subject. He looked confused again, so she added, "for my name out there. You said Esther."

"Oh, it was the first ladies' name that I could think of. Also, I think it's pretty."

Leslie nodded, assuming at least half of that was due to statuesque brunette actress Esther Williams. She sighed and looked around the tight space of their train compartment.

"Look, let's be sensible, grown-up adults here. The conductor already thinks you're my husband and it would be a lot more believable if we stayed together. Besides I'm assuming that your seat out there is reserved under your real name, and he thinks you're Leslie Knope now. It's only overnight. You should stay in here. It's okay. We can share the room."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. Leslie was sure. She was blazing her own trail, after all.


	2. So you're going to Montana to try and find out what happened to Dorothy Everton Smythe?

Their train compartment's bed, when pulled out and turned down, was a double--quite luxurious for one but a bit on the snuggly side for two strangers. They'd eventually agreed to hang a blanket from some clothesline stretched up high near the ceiling of the compartment, effectively dividing the bed in half with a makeshift curtain-- sort of like in the movie _It Happened One Night_.

Ben seemed surprised that she was carrying clothesline in her suitcase, but he seemed to be even more surprised that she was traveling with emergency s'mores rations as well--the package of campfire marshmallows was large and bulky, but necessary. She'd told him as much, all while he'd looked at her confusedly and asked, with a fair amount of sarcasm, if she was planning on doing some camping while in Montana.

Now, after a late dinner, here they were, side by side on the narrow bed, arms touching but not able to see one another. Leslie had quickly changed into her pajamas behind the curtain, leaving some of her undergarments in place. Ben seemed to get ready for sleep just a quickly as she did, hidden on his own side of the bed.

It was quiet for a few minutes, both of them lying there and listening to the train make its steady pace through Wisconsin.

"I'm not really married," she said finally, breaking the silence. "I mean, I've never been married. I made that up so you wouldn't be uncomfortable to stay in here with me and pretend we were married."

There was a moment of silence before he responded. "I kind of figured that. You don't seem like a widow. Plus, the factory explosion seemed a little far-fetched. Even for Pawnee."

Leslie sighed. "But you don't have to worry about my virtue or my reputation. It's already in tatters."

She had no idea why she was telling him this. She hardly knew him. She hardly knew him and she was lying in a bed with him.

Why not confess her deepest, darkest secret too?

Leslie continued. "I work, well...I'm not sure I work there anymore, but I did work at Pawnee City Hall. And there was this man, Mark Brendanawicz. I thought he cared about me. And there was a party one night and I had two whole glasses of champagne and we started kissing in Circle Park. He walked me home."

"That doesn't sound too bad. It was only kissing. That's not completely tattering."

"Well, hold onto your hat because then we went back to his house instead and had...relations. With his _penis_ and everything," Leslie whispered that last bit.

"Oh..." Ben trailed off and left it at that. She didn't blame him.

"Of course, it all happened so fast. I didn't even really like it all that much. Well, never mind that. But, I thought he liked me. I thought we'd get married, but that's not happening, so it doesn't matter what I thought. And now I'm a fallen woman on a quest to uncover the history of another fallen woman."

"Dorothy Everton Smythe?"

Leslie sat up in a rush and pulled their blanket back so she could look at him. "How did you know?"

Ben smiled sleepily at her. It was a very nice smile. "You left the newspapers you were looking at on the refiling shelf after you left. I was curious. That one with the article about her was on top: _Lady Pants-wearer Dons Traveling Pants, Leaves the Nest and Heads West. For the Best?_ It was a catchy headline, I memorized it."

"Yes, the Pawnee Journal likes their rhymes. In 1912, Dorothy Everton Smythe spent four years in jail for wearing pants on a Sunday. She was a bit of a trailblazer," she managed to not add, _like me_ , onto the end of that.

"Let me guess, after that, Pawnee women were allowed to wear pants on Sunday, right?"

"Oh no."

"No?"

"No. There was even more of a backlash, and now it's illegal to wear pants Sunday, Monday, and Thursday. The law is still on the books today. But, in 1916, after she got out of jail, she left town for good, heading to Montana, so she could wear her beloved pants every day of the week. I want to know what happened to her. I want it to be something good. _AndIhavesometimenow_." She mumbled that last part.

Ben nodded and Leslie couldn't help but notice how cuddly his plaid flannel pajamas looked. "The newspaper said Billings."

"Right. That's where I'm heading."

"So you're going to Montana to try and find out what happened to Dorothy Everton Smythe?"

"Yes. I pretty much got let go from my job, so it seemed like as good a time as any to have an adventure."

"You had a job and now you don't? Why?" Now Ben was sitting up too and staring at her.

"Because of...you know, the _scandal_. People saw me leaving his house in the morning. It got around town. Mr. Swanson, my boss, he said I should take some time off until the gossip settled down, but I'm not sure I can go back there. Really, it's a miracle I wasn't set adrift on Lake Michigan like a human popsicle."

Ben made a face. "What?"

"Never mind. It's a Pawnee thing."

"Well, that's definitely not fair that you lost your job."

Leslie appreciated his words, but she shrugged. When she got back to Indiana, she'd figure out how to stop her reputation from being destroyed, but right now, she'd let that take a backseat to her current mission.

"That man you work with, Mark? He, um, he didn't force--"

"No! No. It wasn't like that. I was a little tipsy but I knew what I was doing. I mean, I didn't really know what I was doing, but I had an idea of what was happening and then by the time it stopped being so uncomfortable, it was over. It didn't really last that long, which seemed good. Honestly, I don't get what the big deal is."

Ben was quiet for a few seconds, just staring at her. "I'm sorry."

"And then he started avoiding me at work and when he did finally say something to me, it was only to make sure there wasn't going to be a baby."

Her bedmate was frowning again. "There's not, right? You're okay?"

Leslie snorted. "Yes. I had my... _you know_...a couple weeks later."

"Oh. Right. Good."

"Do you know what I'm talking about?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not sure you--"

"You had your menstrual cycle," Ben said quickly, blushing a bit. "I get it. I understand human biology."

Now it was her turn to nod and blush.

Her own sleep attire was a pair of light cotton polka dot pajamas (she tended to get warm while she slept) that did not reveal very much at all, but still, she suddenly felt a bit exposed. "Okay. This is a very strange conversation to have with someone I just met."

"Well, we are married, m'dear."

Leslie smiled and settled back down. So did Ben.

She slid the little curtain back across giving them each some privacy. It was still definitely odd, but the more she really thought about it, she didn't actually feel all that embarrassed to have told him everything. She should be completely mortified, but she wasn't.

"Good night, Leslie," she said softly.

"Good night, Esther," Ben replied.

*****

This was nuts.

In three hours they were going to be pulling into the station at Partridge and he'd be spending the holidays with his family but truth be told, Ben really did not want to go.

He knew that his parents would be fighting viciously and passive-aggressively the whole visit and his brother and sister-in-law Yvette (Henry had met her in France during the war--he returned home missing an arm, but he'd gained a wife) just had a baby, Georgeanne. His little sister Stephanie had recently gotten engaged too, which meant that Ben's mother was constantly going to be asking him when he was going to settle down as well.

By Christmas morning, someone (his dad) would have locked himself downstairs in the basement to drink to Scotch and listen to jazz records and someone else (his mom), would have thrown at least three plates against the wall. If they were lucky, they wouldn't be plates full of holiday food.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Wyatt Family.

No, that did not sound appealing at all.

Although, he did want to meet his new niece and soon-to-be brother-in-law, of course. He just didn't want to do it surrounded by a lot of yelling and his parents' unpleasantness. He kind of wished they would just split up and go their separate ways, but neither seemed willing to admit defeat and be scandalized by divorcing, even though they clearly hated one another.

Instead of that whole mess, what he wanted was to stay on the train with this odd and beautiful woman he'd just met, and go all the way to Montana. And not only because he accidentally saw her in only her dress slip, garters, and nylons this morning.

Although that certainly didn't hurt anything.

It also wasn't just because he was concerned about her traveling by herself (although he was). Mostly, it was because he liked her. He liked her a lot.

Leslie Knope was passionate and driven and so refreshingly different. She was smart and interested in history and politics like he was and last night after she'd told him about her unfortunate personal situation and they'd said their goodnights, they'd started talking again.  For over an hour they had discussed last month's stunning presidential election.

Both had voted for Harry S. Truman, although Leslie admitted that she had a bit of a crush on Henry Wallace, FDR's one-time vice president. She almost voted for the Progressive Party candidate, but at the last minute, she decided to support the incumbent.

Ben couldn't even remember the last time he had such a substantive and fun conversation with a woman. Since the war ended and he'd come back home, he had spent the last three years going through the motions of finishing his PhD and then teaching at Indiana University, but it was like Ben almost forgot what it felt like to be really happy. To feel relaxed. To feel anything that didn't somehow remind him that he came home whole and his brother did not.

But now, just being around Leslie, he seemed lighter somehow, whereas the thought of spending time in Partridge with his family kind of made Ben feel like he'd swallowed a very heavy rock.

Plus, Leslie had pretty blonde hair and as he learned this morning, had read a rather impressive number of political biographies.

He was still thinking about her and smiling when the door to their compartment opened.

"Hi-de-ho," she said by way of greeting and held a coffee cup out to him.

"Oh, thanks."

"I got it from the dining car. The porter's going to bring some waffles and sausage in a bit so we can have breakfast. So, what's on your mind, Professor Wyatt? Thinking about Christmas with your family?"

"Yes. I am."

"We get to Partridge in--"

"Three hours. Look, I--"

"It's fine. Don't worry about me. I have a plan. I'll say you aren't feeling well, I'll leave the bed pulled down, and put pillows under the covers. Tell anyone that asks about my husband, that you're sleeping. Piece of cake. _Mmmmmm_ , I could really go for some cake."

Ben laughed. Yeah, that was another thing, she seemed to have quite an insatiable sweet tooth. "Alright. But here's an even better idea. I could just stay on the train and come with you."

"What?"

"I could stay on the train and come with you," Ben repeated. "It's only one more night and then we get to Billings. We'll try to find out what happened to Dorothy together. I can help. Besides, Montana should be beautiful this time of year with all the snow."

Leslie made a surprised face at him."Doesn't Minnesota get a lot of snow?"

To prove her point, she drew the shade up in their compartment. And yeah, sure enough, there was snow. A lot of it. But he found himself wanting to be where she was, and where she was heading was two states west of Minnesota.

"But there are mountains in Montana. It's completely different snow."

"True," she said, returning his smile. Leslie seemed to consider his offer for only the briefest of moments, before she told him, "You're right, you should probably come with me."


	3. Oh, I've always wanted to read War and Peace. Is it any good?

The second night on the train, the curtain dividing the bed went back up as they passed through Western Minnesota and then into North Dakota.

Sharing a room and a bed with Ben at this point seemed...well, it still felt a bit strange, but she was definitely getting used to having him around. They'd enjoyed their evening meal in the dining car seated with an older couple traveling to Seattle and by the time Leslie had ordered her second dessert, she had a whole background fleshed out for her and Ben.

Well, Leslie and Esther, rather.

For the most part, he let her develop her backstory for their _marriage_ as she saw fit, but he did squeeze her knee under the table a couple of times to reign her in when she got a bit carried away.

To her surprise, Leslie found that she kind of liked it when he did that, which is probably why Ben almost ended up as an amateur rocket scientist by the time the meal was finished.

But now, as Leslie got comfortable on her half of the small bed, she couldn't help but think back to the only other man she'd ever shared a bed with--Mark. She'd been tipsy and looking back, Leslie was pretty sure he had been a bit sauced too, at least she hoped he had been.

Once inside his house, they'd kissed and he'd fumbled with the buttons on her dress. Then, when they had gotten to his bedroom, he'd fumbled some more with her garters, and girdle, and panties. There was more kissing and he'd squeezed her chest a bit and then...he'd pushed inside without even bothering to help her get her girdle off.

Even though it wasn't very romantic or meaningful in retrospect (and he definitely wasn't going to marry her), now Leslie wasn't quite sure she'd take the experience back if she could. Yes, it had made her life a bit difficult as of late, but it also led her down the road to this adventure.

And it was at least good to know what all the fuss was about. Even if it had been a bit of a letdown.

"Hey," Ben interrupted her thoughts. "Knock-knock."

"Yes?"

He slid their little fabric partition back so that they could look at one another. "I was thinking of turning off the light. Is that okay with you?"

She nodded and put her book down on her suitcase, next to her side of the bed. "Yes. We should probably try to get some shut eye. Big day tomorrow."

Leslie was pretty sure she couldn't sleep yet, but Ben did look tired. She started to slide their dividing curtain back but then she stopped. There was just one thing that been bothering her.

"That day we met, back in the library?"

"Yes?"

"You were laughing at me," she said it like an accusation, rather than a question.

Ben sat up. "What? When?"

"When you told that horrible librarian that I was just researching. You were trying not to laugh."

"No, I wasn't laughing. Or, if I was, I certainly wasn't laughing _at_ you. I thought you were a real honey. You know, you were very cute," Ben blurted out.

"Cute like amusing? As in ' _oh look, a girl is trying to research_ '?"

Ben shook his head adamantly. "No. Not at all. Cute like, ' _Hey, I really wish I could get to know that attractive and smart woman and I don't know, maybe be pretend-married to her_ '".

Leslie laughed at his response. "Okay. But tell me, what is your opinion on ladies wearing pants?"

Ben grinned. "Well, I do admit, that I like ladies in dresses and skirts," he said, but paused to take a subtle glance down her body. "But I also like ladies in polka dot pajamas. That said, although a bit unorthodox, I have no issues with a lady wearing pants. Women should be able to wear what they want. Especially if they were say, roller skating in the park or something like that."

"Hmmm. Okay, that was a bit odd at the end, but you pass. We can keep pretending to be married."

She watched now as he laughed. "That was the test of our fake marriage? What if I had said I didn't think women should be allowed to wear pants?"

Leslie narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you really want to find out? Maybe I'd kick you out of our room and you'd be stuck wandering the hallways in your pajamas all the rest of the way to Montana. You'd have to sleep in the lounge car."

"No thank you. I think I'd much rather stay here, in a nice warm bed next to my wife," he said, still clearly amused. "Goodnight, dear."

"Goodnight, honey," Leslie responded with a giggle, sliding their curtain back in place.

Pretending Ben Wyatt was her husband was kind of fun, she thought, as she looked up and the ceiling and smiled.

In the morning, Leslie became aware of two things, one right after the other. The first, was that even though she hadn't been very tired when they'd said goodnight, she must have eventually dozed off, because she was now on her side and looking towards the window in their compartment. When Ben had turned out the light, she had been on her back.

The second thing that Leslie realized, was that Ben's arm was wrapped around her, his palm conveniently cupping one of her breasts. Her eyes opened up all the rest of the way at that discovery--not that it didn't feel nice, because actually, it did. The man had a nice warm hand, especially since if was wrapped up in a blanket.

But also, something was poking against her rear end. She wiggled back a little and got a sleepy little moan from her companion.

Leslie's jaw dropped open. Was that his...? Yep, Leslie thought, that was probably his penis. Ann had told her once that sometimes men had that situation in the morning, because as a nurse who worked at Pawnee St. Joseph Hospital, Ann knew all kinds of important things like that.

Ben was obviously asleep so it wasn't like he was trying to get fresh with her. Besides, the bed was awfully small, where else was his penis supposed to go?

She tried to turn her head on the pillow without waking him up and from what she could see, it appeared as though Ben had also pulled their blanket-curtain all the way down in his sleep, because he was now practically rolled up in it as he cuddled her from behind.

She sure hoped he could breathe okay with a blanket over his face.

Maybe she should try to wake him up?

Leslie pushed back gently, just a little nudge really. And this time in response, she got a push back, as well as a squeeze from his hand.

Oh dear.

Well, that wasn't quite working. She cleared her throat and then wiggled again, harder. In response, Ben seemed to stir. And then...

"What's happening? Oh my god! Where am...oh!"

Yeah, he seemed to be waking up now.

"Good morning," Leslie said with an exaggerated yawn, but not turning over yet. "I think our curtain fell down."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled and then he quickly moved his hand from her, with his penis quickly following suit. "Um, oh god, I was asleep. I was asleep, I swear."

"Oh, me too. I just woke up this very second."

"You did?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Just now. Right now."

"I, uh, I fell asleep with a book in the bed. Oh, how strange, it was right here between us. Just in case you woke up and felt something. It was a book. _War and Peace_."

She had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. That was no book that she'd felt, and besides, last night he'd borrowed one of her _Batman_ Christmas-themed comics to read. But it was sweet he was trying to pretend that _War and Peace_ had been standing up and poking against her behind.

Still, she couldn't resist teasing him a little. She turned over to look at him.

"Oh, I've always wanted to read _War and Peace_. Is it any good?"

Ben's eyes widened. He was way over on his side, still facing her with the blanket bunched around his middle. He'd moved back so far she was surprised he hadn't ended up on the floor yet.

"Oh, well, I don't have it anymore. It fell off the bed."

She nodded. "Do you want me to look for it?"

"No. No. That's okay. I'll just get it later. Hey, is it time for breakfast yet? You like waffles. We should get waffles. Mmmmm, waffles."

Leslie smiled and sat up, deciding it was time to put on her robe and visit the ladies' washroom down the corridor. Ben seemed like he might need a little privacy before breakfast.

* * * * *

"So I was thinking, when we check in at the hotel, we should still pretend to be married," Ben said, as they departed the train depot and headed the few blocks to the center of Billings, Montana.

Leslie nodded, re-gripping her suitcase in her hand. Ben had tried to take it from her but she'd insisted on carrying her own bag. "Yes, that would probably be best."

"I just mean, so we only have to get one room. But this time, I'll be me. And you be you."

"Isn't that how it worked before?"

He grinned. "No. I was Mr. Leslie Knope. I was thinking I could be Mr. Ben Wyatt this time."

"Oh. Right. Okay. And you're a history professor at Indiana University. A history professor who for some reason is very interested in economic history. Are you sure you don't want to pick something more interesting?"

Her companion rolled his eyes just a bit before giving her a look, and yet, he was still smiling. "Yes. I know your opinion on my interests and they have been noted. And also, look, I know you can carry that, but please let me take it," he didn't wait for her to answer, but instead slid his hand over hers on the handle and kept it there until she released her fingers.

"Fine. But I'm Leslie and not Esther this time."

"Deal."

"And when we get to the room, I'm giving you a little money to pay for some of it. Oh! And we should discuss our strategy for finding out about Dorothy."

Ben didn't answer, but instead, held the lobby door open for her, as they walked inside.

The Northern Hotel was all decked out for Christmas with a large tree in the lobby, festive decorations, and a roaring fire in the big stone fireplace. It was absolutely lovely, but they still had much to do--head to the City Hall to look through property records, peruse the town's old newspapers, maybe even hire a private investigator. Leslie was making a list in her head while they checked in.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ben Wyatt, from Indiana," the hotel clerk read back from the registration form. "That will be $8.75 a night."

Ben handed over the first night's fee and asked, "I was wondering, do you by any chance happen to know a Dorothy Everton Smythe? She would have moved to town about thirty years ago."

"Dorothy Smythe?" The man repeated. "Oh sure. She--"

"Oh my goodness! You actually know her? Was she happy here?" Leslie started asking a flurry of questions excitedly. "Did she--"

"She was hard to not know about," the man said and then leaned in close and whispered, "She wore pants practically every day. And, I'm not really sure if she was happy, she seemed it, but I didn't know her that well."

"Where is she? Is she close by?"

"Oh. About that. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but she died about two years ago, pneumonia. Why are you asking?"

Died? She was dead? Leslie's face fell. Oh Ann, she thought, you sophisticated newborn baby, how did you know?

"Relatives," Ben answered quickly. As he spoke to the desk clerk, Ben took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We're relatives. Well, my wife here is...not me too, because that would be weird. We were kind of hoping we could stop by and say hi to her. But...it doesn't sound like that plan will work anymore."

The man nodded. "Well, you could say hi to her house. It's been abandoned since she passed. Big ol' farmhouse just shy of Route 302, about, oh five miles from town. The transit bus is still running for now, but you might want to wait, we're supposed to be in for a hell of a Christmas Eve blizzard in a bit," the man glanced at Leslie. "Excuse my language, ma'am."

"Oh, you're excused. I say _applesauce_ all the time. I understand."

Ben took his change from the man behind the desk. "Well, thank you so much for your help."

The clerk nodded. "Room 402. I'll have a bellhop bring your bags up to your room. Enjoy your stay."


	4. We could be having sherry by the fire and maybe be sitting in the same chairs as presidents.

After writing down directions and the address to Dorothy's house from the front desk clerk, Leslie and Ben went to their room and changed clothes. She opted for her new black boots and a heavier wool dress while Ben brought his suitcase into the small bathroom and came out looking like he was wearing the same thing. Then, they headed back downstairs and outside to find the bus stop.

Of course, they were going to Dorothy's house right away, how could Leslie finally be here in Billings and not at least go see the house first thing? Ben, to his credit, didn't question her plan.

Still, during the short bus ride, she guessed that he would probably have been happier to stay put at the hotel and lounge in the lobby, enjoying Christmas Eve by the large fireplace, but she appreciated his willingness to jump right into their mission. And yes, Leslie was definitely disappointed that Dorothy had succumbed to sickness, but maybe they could still learn something by seeing where she lived.

If nothing else, Leslie felt like she owed it to the woman to see it through as soon as possible. To bear witness to her life here in Montana, even if it was after the fact.

"You know," Ben said while they sat side by side on one of the bus's hard seats. "There was a plaque back in the hotel lobby that said both Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson stayed at the Northern Hotel."

"Really? Teddy Roosevelt slept there?"

He grinned in response. "Yes. We could be having sherry by the fire and maybe be sitting in the same chairs as presidents."

She smiled. She knew him so well already. "Well, we can do that later after we get back. I really want to see where she lived."

He gave her an understanding smile as the bus driver announced their stop.

"Huh, it's really coming down out there," Ben commented a couple of minutes later, as they walked along the sidewalk.

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine. It's only a little snow. It's festive for Christmas Eve," she responded.

"I don't know. This might be a blizzard like the hotel clerk was saying."

They walked on for a few more minutes and Leslie started to regret the fact that she did not think to pack heavier gloves. Maybe she should have brought those and left one or two of her Batman comics home? And maybe instead of the blue silk hat with the bow in back, she should have brought her warmer wool one?

As they continued to make their way, she was grateful when Ben took her hand as they trudged along.

It was snowing quite a bit. And there was a lot of wind too.

The hotel lobby did sound fairly nice right now, Leslie thought, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. But no, this was important. This was the whole point of Operation Riding the Rails West for Christmas, and Leslie intended to see this through and see where Dorothy had lived and...applesauce. They ran out of sidewalk.

Now it was just snow. And more snow. And then, on top of that, even more snow.

Leslie took her next step carefully and of course the white stuff went up to her calves, right on passed her boots, soaking her legs right through her nylons. "Oh."

Ben looked down and saw her dilemma. "You can't walk in this. You'll freeze."

"No. It's okay. I can--oh!"

He lifted her up and into his arms before she could even finish her sentence.

"What's happening?"

"I'm carrying you so you don't have to walk through all the snow with just your legs. I mean, since your boots are so short and all."

Indeed, her boots only came up a couple of inches past her ankles. Ann had talked her into buying them at the department store last month. They were very fashionable and cute but not much good for a blizzard, when her skirt ended a bit below her knees. And they were practically useless without cleared sidewalks.

"Thanks." She gave him a smile even though he couldn't see her mouth through her scarf. "Hey, it's really too bad I'm not wearing pants right now, huh?"

Ben snorted in agreement as they made slow but steady progress in what she hoped was the right direction.

"IT SHOULD BE RIGHT IN FRONT OF US," Leslie shouted over the wind.

"I CAN'T SEE ANYTHING. IT'S ALL WHITE. I--" Ben stopped shouting.

"What? What?"

"Steps. I think..." he trailed off as he slowly clomped up the front steps to a house, keeping Leslie firmly in his arms.

The porch provided a little protection from the storm and he set her down when they reached the front door.

"What do you think? Is this it?" Ben asked.

"It should be. It certainly looks abandoned and yes, there are the right house numbers," she confirmed, spotting the 543 on the front of the house. "But how are we going to get inside?"

To be honest, Leslie hadn't thought this whole thing through. She was so determined to get here, what they were supposed to do once they arrived hadn't really been a focus.

Now, she walked over to a window and tried to peer in at the interior. The windows were dirty so it was hard to see anything.

She tried the door handle and was not too surprised to find it locked.

"Do you have a hairpin?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, which Ben returned with a shrug, as if to say, _we might as well try it_. Leslie rearranged her hat and gave him a bobby pin from her hair and then watched in amazement as he did some jiggling and some jangling with the small piece of metal and then...the door opened.

"Oh my goodness. You actually picked the lock!"

She got a sheepish smile in response as he held the door open for her. "Oh, well, I figured if it worked for Dick Tracy it was worth a try."

"You're a man-genius! We made it and..." she stopped talking when she noticed the state of his clothes. "Oh Ben, your pants are completely soaked."

"From walking through the snow drifts. Now that you mention it, I am really cold," he admitted as she shut the door behind him.

There was still enough late afternoon light to see around inside, all the same, she tried a light switch. Nothing.

Inside, the space was big, with sheets thrown over the few pieces of furniture and although clearly abandoned, it was not dilapidated or too rundown. The house was empty mostly, but with a large table, a sofa, and a chair--everything all covered up.

She looked back at Ben and although it was definitely not as cold as it was outside, it was still fairly chilly inside. And he was shivering now. There was only one solution.

"Take your pants off."

"I'm sorry?"

"They're all wet," Leslie explained logically. "You can't keep those on. Take them off and you can use one of these sheets to cover up with. Maybe..." she looked around the space and spotted a fireplace, it even looked like there was a cord of wood right there. Perfect. "We can even get a fire going and try to warm the both of us up."

He stared at her for a split second before he spoke again. "Alright."

* * * *

She'd been in the kitchen rummaging around for something they could possibly have for dinner. Judging by the weather, it was pretty clear they were going to be stuck here for the night at least.

"We're in luck," Leslie told him, as she walked back into the living room carrying a tray.

The sheet that had been covering the sofa, was now wrapped around Ben's waist, and his coat and hat were off and hanging up on a hook by the door. He'd managed to start a blazing fire in the fireplace and his hair was mussed up, but at least he'd been wearing a hat earlier when they were out in the elements.

And the living room? It was practically warm and cozy now. The only thing that could make it nicer is if Ben had put up and decorated a Christmas tree while she was in the kitchen.

"You found a fully cooked pot roast and some baked potatoes somewhere in there?" He guessed.

"No. A can of beans and some canned peaches that look acceptable. And now we can heat the beans over the fire, because nothing in the kitchen seems to be working."

Ben offered Leslie a _hmmm_ as he took the food from her.

"And do you realize what else we can have now that there's a fire going?"

"Well, if you had your suitcase with you, I'd guess s'mores but--"

"Ha!" Leslie exclaimed, as she practically ran over to her purse where she set it on the couch and then dumped it out on the cushions. Chocolate, graham crackers, a wallet, her hairbrush, the marshmallow box, and even more fell out.

"Your emergency s'mores rations. But how did you fit that big box of marshmallows in--"

"Christmas magic!"

Ben laughed, clearly in a bit of a better mood than he'd been when they were outside. Leslie supposed not being in fear of dying of exposure in a Montana blizzard would do that to a person. She certainly felt a lot better.

"Alright. Beans, peaches, and s'mores it is for Christmas Eve dinner. And I found something too," he said, walking over to a mostly bare bookshelf and picking a bottle up.

"Scotch?"

"Yeah. I don't even really like Scotch, but it sort of seems like a Scotch kind of evening."

Leslie nodded. "I'm going to go back in there and find a pot and maybe a fork or two, you stay in here and tend to the fire."

"That is an excellent plan," he told her as she headed into the kitchen once more.

Leslie only managed to find one fork, so they had to take turns and share it as they ate the beans she'd warmed up in a pot over the fire--it was cute, she thought, them sharing a fork. Plus, the peaches were indeed fine and the s'mores were even better.

In fact, the s'mores were easily the best part of their meal in her mind.

They had been sitting on the floor in front of the fire roasting marshmallows (Leslie had discovered some narrow kindling by the firewood, which worked fairly well for this), but now, they decided to move up to the sofa, taking the bottle of Scotch with them. She had found some candles in a drawer in the kitchen, and they had lit a few of those too.

There were no glasses that she could find, but it worked fairly well to pass the bottle back and forth a few times, although Leslie limited herself to only a couple of small sips.

Ben looked as if he was doing the same.

"Ugh, okay. I really do not like Scotch," he said finally. "My father and brother are Scotch men, but honestly I'd much rather have a martini. Or a beer. Or water."

Leslie smiled. "I kind of figured you didn't like it much when let it dribble out of your mouth that first time."

"Oh, hey, I was hoping you didn't see that."

They were sitting side by side on the cushions and for how cold she was earlier, she was much warmer now. The fire was all toasty and she'd had three s'mores and the small bit of Scotch she did sip was making her belly feel all warm. She wasn't tipsy, but she was definitely very relaxed.

"It's okay. You saw me spit out that carrot the other night during dinner on the train."

They shared a laugh at that and she leaned back against him and almost immediately Ben's arm went around her shoulder. It felt good. Really, really good.

Uh-oh.

It was way too easy to pretend that she and Ben were really married. He was kind, smart, and adorable man with a cute face. Ben had supported her throughout this whole adventure. And now it was almost over, even if she didn't want it to be.

And then, before she even thought it through all the way, Leslie was saying the very next thing that came to mind while sitting here all snugly with him on Christmas Eve, so close she could feel his warmth as the sides of their legs touched.

"What do you think Bess Truman kisses like?"

Ben made a face like he didn't quite hear her correctly. "What?"

"Bess Truman. Our new First Lady To Be. Do you ever wonder?"

"No. Oh, do you?"

Leslie giggled and slapped at his leg. "Silly. I mean, the new First Lady and the President-Elect, they must kiss. What do you think it's like?"

Now Ben's face went from confused to amused, then he tried for a serious expression as he mimicked their new President. "Bess? Babydoll? Come in here, I'm done making all my important President-Elect decisions for the day and I'd like to kiss."

Leslie kept right on laughing at Ben's President Truman impression. It was not actually half bad.

"But darling, I'm still doing all my important First Lady To Be things. You'll just need to wait," she replied, taking on the role of Bess.

Ben made a completely different face as he moved even closer. "Now, woman. I'm going to be the President of the whole United States next month. I recently won a very hard-fought election and surprised the whole country with my stunning victory. I deserve a kiss and--"

He did deserve a kiss. And more importantly, Leslie really, really wanted to kiss him. So, she turned to face him fully and did exactly that--smooched Professor Ben Wyatt right on his mouth parts.

If Ben seemed surprised by her show of affection, he recovered quickly, putting his hands at the side of her face and pulling her even closer. He tasted like Scotch and chocolate and marshmallows and it was all she could do to not moan out loud.

Actually, she did moan out loud, a couple of times, but especially when his tongue touched hers. That sent an unexpected jolt through her body that made her want to climb into his lap and stay there canoodling indefinitely.

Eventually, Ben's fingers started skimming up under the skirt of her dress. Not grabbing or groping, but teasing, running along the path of her garters and along bare skin, first along the fronts and backs of her legs and then against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

"Oh my," Leslie managed between kisses.

"Do you want me to stop? I can--"

"You better not," she answered and then tugged on his tie to pull him close for another kiss.

If Mark fumbled and poked beneath her dress, Ben caressed with an intense focus. First one garter was unclipped from her girdle and then the other. Then her dress's belt ended up on the floor, followed by her actual dress. He rested his palm against her mound right through her slip, girdle, and panties.

And then his hand slid up the inside of her thigh again, before he moved his fingers up and inside her underwear.

"How does that feel?"

She didn't even know how to answer that, so she nodded. Enthusiastically.

It felt amazing, he was doing something with his fingers that made her stomach tighten and made Leslie feel dizzy with need. One of Ben's fingers was inside her, but one was also rubbing somewhere else that made her moan and groan and unabashedly push against him.

Yep, steamroller activated and ready to go.

But...her undergarments were very much in the way. You could only push things so far to the side and she could tell Ben was getting frustrated. Leslie was getting frustrated too.

They worked together and between the two of them, they managed to get her slip bunched up around her waist and her girdle unhooked and all the way off and onto the floor. It was actually very intimate, employing teamwork to try and get her released from the tight cling of her unmentionables.

The straps of her slip were down on her shoulders and she went to work trying to unclasp her bra and pull it up and off while Ben tugged her panties down. By the time they had completed both tasks, one nylon was down around her knee, while the other was hanging on for dear life, still up by her thigh.

"I think I need a moment to catch my breath," Ben said and Leslie wasn't quite sure if all the tugging and unhooking had made him winded or if he was referring more to the state of her almost nakedness.

So they kissed some more. Light kisses and nose rubs that made her giggle and then deep kisses that made her stomach drop.

She ended up on her back and when his hand found the space between her thighs again, this time there was nothing in the way. This time Ben touched her and kissed her and whatever had started building up before was back in full force. When Ben moved down and starting tonguing one of her nipples, everything fell into place.

Before she knew what was happening, Leslie was twisting on the couch cushions, moaning and saying his name over and over again as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Well... _that_ was certainly different than her previous experience.

"I don't have anything," he whispered, after kissing his way back up her neck and putting his face close to hers. "You know, a prophylactic. Not that we have to...I mean, I don't expect that. Really. But I was on my way to see my family so...I did not think I would need anything like that when I packed, that's all. And I don't want you to have to worry about anything. But I wanted to make you feel good. Was that good?"

Leslie smiled lazily and nodded. But then she frowned. "Wait. But what about you? Don't you want to..." she trailed down and rested her gaze to where the sheet was sticking out a bit.

"Oh, I--"

"No fair! I want to see it!"

She'd been so close to a penis now on two different occasions, and she'd yet to actually see one clearly and up close. Unacceptable.

For his part, Ben was looking at her oddly, not exactly amused but more like he had just fallen overboard and she insisting on throwing him a life jacket.

"You want to see it?"

"Yeah. Show it to me, Mr. President-elect," she teased, helping him unwind the sheet from around his hips.

Ben groaned and went ahead and pulled his boxers down without needing much more persuasion. Or help. Men's undergarments were definitely easier to deal with.

It looked pretty much like she expected it to, but when she touched him, even though he was quite hard, his skin there was much silkier than she would have thought. Leslie also hadn't been able to imagine how Ben would react to having her hand on him, how he'd show her how to touch him and then moan. How he'd lean in close and kiss her and then look at her like she was doing something truly amazing.

His shirt was still on but his tie was off and the sheet was somewhere beneath him. Who knew or cared what happened to his boxer shorts, not while he was kissing and moving against her and reacting to everything they were doing.

It was wonderful but she wanted more. They were so close their foreheads were practically touching, but she needed more.

"Maybe we could...put it in? For a minute. Just to see what it's like?" She asked, still touching him.

Ben groaned again, burying his face in her neck. And yet...he moved her hand from him and then tugged at her hips, easily settling between her thighs.

"Are you sure?"

Leslie nodded as his fingers traveled down her belly again, eventually sliding around her opening. Without a doubt she was ready--that was fairly obvious to both of them.

"Just for a minute," he whispered. "To see what it's like...when we do _that_. That was a very smart idea."

" _Mmmmhmmmm_."

Ben thrust between her legs a couple of times, getting closer and closer to his target until he easily pushed inside. There was no resistance from her body at all, he seemed to glide right on inside as if she'd had a big welcome mat out for him. That made her giggle.

"What?" He was smiling and nuzzling close to her face. He had a five o'clock shadow and his hair was all messy--she liked it. She liked doing this with him.

"Nothing. It's silly."

"This is silly?"

"No. Nooooooo. I was only thinking that this feels perfect. You feel perfect."

Ben nodded and slid his hand around her hip and to the back of her thigh, encouraging Leslie to wrap her legs around him. But after a couple of minutes, he seemed to think better of it and reached back to unhook her ankles. He slipped out of her and rolled them on their sides, and she watched as he used his hand to take over. The tip of him would brush against her belly every so often, making Ben moan even more, until...

"Oh!" She kept watching, mesmerized, as he released himself onto her stomach.

 He seemed embarrassed. "Sorry about that...you know, on you. I can clean..."

Ben stopped talking when she pressed her lips against his and then just kissed her back.

 * * * * *

"Can I ask you something?"

He shifted beneath her and Leslie slid to the side a little, which gave her more room to cuddle.

Seeing how intimate they'd been, she bent her knee and slid it up. Her slip was still bunched up around her waist, so that in this position she was all open and pressed against his bare hip in an extremely indelicate way.

But really, she was too tired to worry much about that. She wasn't the best traveler (not that she'd even been out of Indiana before), and both nights so far Leslie had probably averaged only three hours of sleep. It was starting to catch up with her. And now, after they'd used the bottom of the sheet to clean up with and were using that and his coat as a blanket, she was more comfortable than she could believe, laying on top of Ben in only her slip, him in only a shirt and boxer shorts.

That's probably why she was feeling a lot of feelings right now--feelings like why did this have to end when they got back to Indiana? And why couldn't she have met him under different circumstances--mainly circumstances where he didn't even know about Mark and he thought she was a nice girl. The type he'd want to bring home to meet his parents.

Not the kind of girl that did things on a couch that wasn't hers, with a man she'd known less than a week. The kind of girl that didn't even regret it.

Of course, none of that should matter and it wasn't at all fair to be judged for something like that or for something like wanting to wear pants, but Leslie wasn't naive enough to think that it didn't matter. Plus, she'd probably broken at least five Pawnee laws on this trip so far.

"Ask me anything," Ben said sleepily, wrapping his arms around her tighter.

"Should I lie about... _you know_."

"Lie about what? I don't know."

Leslie sighed and closed her eyes, but stayed cuddled close as Ben's fingers started running a lazy path of circles across her back. "About not being a virgin. My mother suggested when I get married, that I should lie and pretend I'm more innocent that I am. Can I get your opinion on that? You know, you being a man and all."

She felt Ben chuckle a little, still tracing patterns on her back. "That's not a funny question at all, it just surprised me."

"So do men really care about that?"

"Am I supposed to speak for all men? Because I'm not sure I can do that."

"Well, how about you speak for nice men. You're a nice man. Would you want me...or, um, your future wife, to pretend to be inexperienced on your wedding night? Or would you want to know the truth?"

"I'd like to think that whoever I marry would be able to be honest with me, no matter what it was about."

"So, you're saying you wouldn't care? If your wife already had some...experience before your wedding night?"

"If I loved her, it wouldn't matter. I think I'd mostly care that you...or um, she, was alright. That, you know, she wasn't taken advantage of or hurt the first time, if it wasn't with me."

"That's sweet. You're very sweet. I really hope I meet a sweet man like you one day that I can marry for real," Leslie mumbled, before placing a kiss against his chest and falling into a deep sleep.


	5. Oh my god, what are you doing?

He was watching her sleep.

But, how could she still be sleeping? Leslie didn't even wake up when he slid out from under her in the morning, as Ben got dressed, said her name loudly a few times, or as the neighbor unexpectedly banged on the front door.

Did last night wear her out that much? Ben raised an eyebrow at that thought.

Well, blizzard aside, it was a pretty incredible way to spend Christmas Eve.

Leslie also hadn't woken up when he had asked "wait, what?" after she said that she wanted to meet a _sweet man like him that she could marry for real._

Ben was still processing _that_ this morning.

He placed another log on the fire and then turned his attention back to the lightly snoring blonde bundled up on the sofa. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks--without any doubt at all, this was the best Christmas that he'd ever had.

Ben was still turning that realization over in his brain when Leslie's eyes fluttered open slowly.

"Hi."

"Hi there, sleepy head."

Ben watched as she made a confused face. "What's that?"

"Coffee."

She sat up so fast the sheet slid down around her waist. Unfortunately, she'd straightened her slip out during the night. "Coffee? You have coffee? How do you have coffee?"

His grin was wide when he confirmed that the pot on the dining room table was indeed freshly percolated coffee. Ben grabbed one of the borrowed cups and poured her some, then walked it over.

"But how..." she made a face and then finished with, "was it Santa?"

Ben laughed. "No, not Santa Claus, I'm afraid. The neighbors down the road. We couldn't see their house last night because of all the blowing snow, but it's only a couple hundred yards away. I met them while you were getting your beauty sleep. Nice job with that, by the way."

They shared a slightly awkward smile as Leslie took the cup from him and tried a sip.

"Merry Christmas," she told him.

"Merry Christmas," Ben agreed and they clinked coffee cups. "They gave me a whole picnic basket to bring back. We have muffins and half a roast turkey."

"What?!"

"Yes," Ben nodded. "After the neighbor stopped by this morning and I was able to convince him that I wasn't a madman who had broken into an abandoned house overnight, I explained that my wife and I got stranded during the storm. He took me down to his house at the end of the block and his wife gave me coffee and muffins and some leftover roast turkey to bring back. If the roads are clear enough, they even offered to see us back to the hotel later."

"Do you think they have any whipped cream?"

Well, that was not a question that Ben had expected. "What?"

"For the coffee! Whipped cream?"

"Um...no? Probably not. But why am I not surprised you like whipped cream in your coffee?"

Leslie grinned at him and good lord, she was so pretty, with her tousled blonde hair and her well-rested face.

He really just wanted to kiss her all Christmas day and straight into 1949.

It was at that exact moment that Ben had his second epiphany of the morning: not only was this the best Christmas he'd ever had, but he knew right then and there, that he _did_ want to marry this strange, passionate, goofball of a woman. Not pretend to be married to her for a few days, but be married to her forever.

He only wished he had a ring on him to do this right.

Ben looked around the sparse living room and made due with what he did have. He grabbed a muffin and walked back over to the couch and got down on one knee before he could second-guess anything.

"I know this is a little spontaneous and believe me, I hardly ever do anything really spontaneous. Well, besides stay on a train going to Montana with a woman I'd only seen once before, instead of getting off in Minnesota to see my family. But here's the thing, because of that, because of _you_ , these past few days have been amazing and I'm pretty positive that I've fallen completely and ridiculously in love with you. Will you--"

"Oh my god. What are you doing?"

He told her. "I don't want this to end when we get back to Indiana, I want to be with you and have more adventures. Leslie Knope, will you--"

"Are you proposing to me with a bran muffin?" She was practically bouncing up and down as she asked.

Ben nodded. "Yes, except it's not a bran muffin. This is going to sound more like a cupcake, but she said they were chocolate cherry muf--"

"CHOCOLATE CHERRY? THAT'S WHAT THAT IS?"

Her screamed out questions made him lean back a bit in surprise but then she rushed down at him, her smile growing by the second and soon Ben was grinning too as he nodded.

Leslie was down on the floor and in his arms before he could do or say anything else, the muffin smooshed between them. They kissed as she gripped onto his shirt collar, even when they fell over onto the floor, Leslie landing on top of him. They kept kissing.

Was this a yes? He should probably make sure.

"Marry me?" Ben finished asking the question against her lips.

"Wait. Hold on. I just need a moment. To check something. To make sure you're doing this because you want to, not because you feel like you have to. Because of last night? Because--"

He stopped her right there. "Leslie, I'm asking you to marry me because I love you. Last night was just a bonus."

She smiled. A wide, happy, radiant smile that made his heart skip a beat. "Yes. Agreed. Then, yes. Definitely, yes!"

"Oh thank god," Ben said, before he sucked on her earlobe. "And for the record, I don't care about what happened before we met. Well, I care of course, but not...how you were worried about. It doesn't matter to me."

When she brought her face close to his, Ben could see tears in her eyes before she spoke. "And also for the official record here, Professor Wyatt, I'm pretty positive that I am completely and ridiculously in love with you too. Just to be clear on that, buddy."

"Oh good," Ben commented, nodding and moving for anther kiss.

"Wait!"

"There's more?" He asked.

She smiled. "Yes! I just had a great idea! Let's just do it here. Get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow, even!"

"Tomorrow?"

Leslie nodded at him. "I can't stand the thought of not being _real-married_ to you. I don't want a fussy long engagement or a big stuffy to-do. There must be a Justice of the Peace in town. We'll get a marriage license right here."

And rings, Ben thought. Tomorrow they'd find a jewelry store and he'd buy her a wedding band. An engagement ring too if she wanted one. And oh, maybe they should take a honeymoon? Or is this the honeymoon? He wasn't quite sure about that.

Ben smiled at her and then suddenly they were kissing again. How did that even happen? He didn't care all that much, he just wanted to keep kissing his wife-to-be, but Leslie pulled back after a few more seconds of locking lips.

"Do we have more muffins? I think we killed this one."

His proposal muffin was currently in pieces and crumbs on the floor, as well as ground into his shirt. Ben chuckled into her neck. "Yes."

"Oh," Leslie pulled back a bit and sat up on him. "But I haven't even met your parents yet."

"I absolutely think it's best that we get married before you meet my parents. But is it okay if I haven't met yours?"

Leslie gave him a slightly sad look. "It's only my mom and she'll love you. My dad died when I was ten."

He had not expected that. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. It was a really long time ago. But, I do wish Ann could meet you."

"Who's Ann?"

"Only my best friend and the most beautiful nurse in the whole world. She helped me get my train ticket and helped me plan this whole thing. We called it _Operation Riding the Rails West for Christmas_."

"Well, I'm looking forward to meeting her and thanking her. Oh and when we get back to Indiana, there's one other thing I need to do."

"What's that?"

"Go to the City Hall in Pawnee and punch that no-good Mark _Brendana-whatever-his-name-is_ right in the nose for how he treated you."

He watched as her mouth dropped open and her eyes lit up again.

"Oh my god, I love you so much!"

Leslie flung herself down against him again and they might very well have consummated their Christmas engagement right there on the floor (after all, she was just wearing a slip), had it not been for a knock on the door.

It took a couple of moments to get her presentable, most of her clothes had been under the sofa. Ben assured the visitor that they were coming, just as he zipped her dress up in back. Her girdle, garters, brassiere, and nylons were still somewhere on the floor, but this would have to do for now.

Ben opened the door.

"Hi again," he said to the older man standing on the porch. Then he turned to Leslie. "This is the neighbor, Pete, from down the road. This is my...wife, Leslie Knope. Wyatt. I mean, um, Leslie Knope...Wyatt."

"How do you do?" Leslie asked politely.

"Fine, ma'am. There's one more thing and my wife wanted me to come down here and mention it, since you're Dorothy's relative from Indiana and all."

"Oh, yes. I am," Leslie nodded quickly. "We were cousins. Third cousins. Once removed. I remember one time back in Pawnee. I was a little girl..." Ben watched as she faltered, as if Leslie was working through the math regarding the difference in ages for the first time. "A very tiny girl...a baby, really, and..." she trailed off as he gripped her hand and muttered _easy_ under his breath.

The neighbor seemed unconcerned by this slip. "Well, after Dorothy died, me and the missus tried to gather up some of her things, but we weren't sure what to do with her personal items, we didn't know she had any relatives still in Indiana. There are some books packed away upstairs in the bedroom, along with her diary and--"

"Diary?" Leslie and Ben said at the same time, before Leslie added, "Dorothy Everton Smythe had a diary? For documenting her thoughts and all of her feelings and all the important moments in her inspiring and momentous life?"

"Um, yeah, that, I guess? She was always writing in that thing. Said she'd kept one since she was a girl. Heck, there might even be more than one up there. I am sorry for your loss and I hope you can find some comfort in her remaining possessions." The neighbor stopped talking and then frowned when he noticed the front of Ben's clothes. "Muffin accident?"


	6. October 16, 1949

They'd been debating the merits of Granny Smith versus Red Delicious apples for the pie, before deciding to use a combination.

Most men might not want to help their wife make a pie, but her husband was not one of those men. He'd even put on one of her aprons (the red and white checked one with the frilly pockets, which made him look adorable), while they worked side by side in the kitchen, slicing apples and tossing them in brown sugar, cinnamon, cornstarch, lemon juice, and a little nutmeg.

Of course, they paused to take frequent kiss breaks.

"So, we just wait for the oven to preheat and then we can slide it in, right?"

Leslie grinned from her spot by the counter, even as Ben walked up behind her and slid his hands around her belly. At seven months pregnant, her stomach was growing rounder by the day.

"Yes. Then we can bake the pie."

"I like baking pie," Ben said, kissing her neck. "Almost as much as I liked putting a bun in your oven."

She cackled at that. Ben called her his goofball frequently, but honestly, the man was just as silly. He'd even recently taken to calling himself _daddy_ every so often, as if getting ready for their special Christmas-time arrival.

Leslie leaned back against him.

"How is our little Esther?"

"Good," Leslie assured him.

They certainly had no way of knowing if it was a girl, but Ben had taken to teasingly calling the baby Esther and the name was growing on her. Besides, it always made her think of their cramped but cozy train compartment on the way to Montana.

Which reminded her of the thing she was trying to remain calm about.

But...she decided to share her most recent theory. "So I was doing some thinking this morning and I possibly figured it out. Maybe they didn't name the award the _Leslie Knope Wyatt Female Empowerment Award_ because they're awarding the first one to me! I mean that would be odd, right? To win my own award?"

Ben gave her a smile but shrugged. "That might be strange. When are we going to know for sure who they've picked?"

"Any day now! It's so exciting! I know it's my destiny to win the first Dorothy Everton Smythe Female Empowerment Award! It's my destiny, Ben!"

After returning as husband and wife from their adventure in Montana, they'd settled in Bloomington for the time being (still close enough to visit her mother and Ann Perkins in Pawnee frequently), where Leslie got right to work re-reading through and editing Dorothy's three diaries into one cohesive and inspiring tome. Ben had helped of course, but when it was finished Leslie's name was first. He'd insisted.

 _One Woman's Journey for Equality: The Diary of Dorothy Everton Smythe_ edited by Leslie Knope Wyatt and Ben Wyatt. It was to be one of the first books published by the newly formed Indiana University Press in the coming year. And now? Dorothy's old letter to her friend Lorraine was clearly on display in the Pawnee Historical Society's museum. Take that Melvin Lerpiss!

For the book's upcoming publication, Leslie had written the foreword and everything. Originally it had included thirty-two pages on her and Ben's meeting and subsequent love story (as well as five whole pages devoted to his backside and how cute it was), but he'd talked her into cutting that out.

She couldn't help it, sometimes she got a little carried away. Evidently, she wasn't the only one.

There were a number of entries in the diary documenting Dorothy's relationship with a Canadian fur trapper from Saskatoon. Those also got edited out for publication, although Leslie and Ben had definitely read through and discussed those passages at length. It seemed that Dorothy Everton Smythe was not just a pioneer when it came to wearing pants.

There were a number of pages in diary number two detailing something Dorothy called, _pants-area kissing_. Reading through the words on the train as they headed back to Indiana, Ben was only too happy to describe and then show Leslie exactly what the woman meant by that.

Soon after the book was edited for publication, the fledgling Indiana Organization of Women had been given an advance copy and were so inspired by Dorothy's life that they'd created the Dorothy Everton Smythe Female Empowerment Award.

The first recipient was supposed to be chosen this very week.

"It's got to be me, right?" She asked, turning around in his arms.

"I would definitely award it to you," Ben agreed. "Alright, I'm serious. When is the oven going to be ready? I want pie."

The doorbell rang before she could chide him for his impatience again.

When Leslie got the door and opened it, there was a woman standing there. A woman she didn't recognize. 

"Hi, I'm Elise Yarktin, I'm with the Indiana Organization of Women, Pawnee Chapter."

Oh my god, it's happening, Leslie thought. It's really happening. She got a hold of herself and nodded, making her tone very professional and even. "Hello. I am Leslie Knope Wyatt. Welcome to my home. Would you like some hot cocoa?"

Elise looked surprised. "Oh, no. But thank you. The reason I'm here is because of the --"

"Dorothy Everton Smythe Female Empowerment Award!" Leslie said the words right along with her guest.

"Oh. Yes. In fact, is--"

"Babe, the oven's ready. Chop-chop, time to get _bakin_ '. Daddy want pie."

Both Leslie and Elise turned to see Ben standing there, in the borrowed apron and everything. He seemed unconcerned with the words he just spoke in front of their guest.

"Oh, hello. I'm Ben Wyatt."

"Yes, I know," Elise nodded. "And you, Professor Wyatt are very first recipient of the Dorothy Everton Smythe Female Empowerment Award! Congratulations!"

What? Leslie knew her mouth was hanging open, but she didn't care. Ben looked surprised as well, but that was beside the point. How could this even be happening? He wasn't a woman!

Ben in fact, seemed to be just as confused if not more confused than Leslie. He untied the apron and took it off. "Oh, um, I was just borrowing that. I'm not...I mean, my wife is a woman. Are you sure you don't mean, Leslie Knope Wyatt is the IOW's Woman of the Year? Because she's a woman."

Elise smiled. "Oh, we can't actually give the award to a woman. That would be scandalous! Maybe even illegal. No, no. It's you--Professor Ben Wyatt. The official ceremony isn't until next week, but I wanted to share the news."

At least, that's what Leslie thought Elise said. The very loud circus music was back and playing in her head on an endless loop. She just continued to stare at Ben and then Elise, unable to say anything at all.

The woman turned and headed towards the door. "Well, I'll see you next week. Mr. Wyatt. Mrs. Wyatt," Elise paused, waiting for Leslie to answer.

She did not answer and Ben had to see her out, before he turned around slowly walked back to Leslie.

"Honey?" Ben moved closer. "Sweetheart, I know this is unfair and that you're upset, but please try not to grind your teeth. Please say something. We can--"

Finally, she found her voice. "This is a load of _fucking_ applesauce!"

Her husband nodded in agreement. "It is."

"You are not a woman! So how could you be Woman of the Year? You have a penis! I've seen it! A lot! It's right there!" She pointed.

"Yes. I even used it to put a baby in you."

Leslie eyes widened and then she sighed. She took a deep calming breath in, and let it out just as slowly, as she put her hand on her belly.

How could she stay mad after he reminded her of that? Well, she was still incredibly irritated and outraged at the injustice of it all, just not at him. It really wasn't his fault he was so progressive and smart and handsome, and really, her husband did deserve a lot of awards-- _just not hers._

"This is completely ridiculous!"

Ben approached the rest of the way and put his hands gently on her shoulders. "It is _very_ ridiculous. She said there was going to be a ceremony, right?"

"Yes. Next week. When you get _your_ award. For being _Woman_ of the Year."

"Right. Well, I'll just decline it right then and there. In my speech, I'll make it clear that you're the one that deserves the honor. Because it's true. And then everyone will know it."

"Do you really think that?"

"Baby," he paused to kiss her ear. "You know I do. This was all you. You edited everything, you convinced the IU press to publish it with all of your binders and that amazing presentation. And, you did all of that because you were so passionate about wanting to find out what happened to Dorothy and follow her life because she inspired you. And you did it. I was just lucky enough to be along for the ride."

She nodded. "Yes, if it had been up to you, we probably would have stayed in the hotel the whole time and had sherry by the fire."

"Exactly. But instead, we trudged through a blizzard, broke into a house, and did dirty things to each other on a deceased woman's couch."

"And fell in love," Leslie added. "But also, somehow I think Dorothy would have approved that. You know, the stuff on the couch."

Ben chuckled into her neck before he told her, "She probably would have. But the oven really is ready. And daddy still wants pie. Can we bake now? And we'll figure this out later tonight? I promise."

Leslie pulled back and gave her husband a small smile. "Come on little Esther, let's go help your daddy bake a pie. Oh and then we can help him work on his speech where he says that I'm the one who really deserves to be Woman of the Year."

**Author's Note:**

> [Smutty bonus chapter here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5729020/chapters/20661067)
> 
> Interested in fun research links?
> 
> July 20, 1948 Chicago Tribune article on the trend in sleeper car room types: http://archives.chicagotribune.com/1948/07/20/page/48/article/trend-in-rail-sleeper-car-is-to-room-types
> 
> "Glamorous" 1940s rail travel: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E20Jv8uHNlA
> 
> 1940s fashion for petite women: http://vintagedancer.com/1940s/1940s-petite-short-women/
> 
> 1940s undergarments: http://vintagedancer.com/1940s/1940s-lingerie-history/
> 
> Batman and Robin holiday comics: http://www.cbr.com/twas-the-dark-knight-before-christmas-21-great-yuletide-batman-tales/
> 
> About the IU Press: http://www.iupress.indiana.edu/pages.php?CDpath=13


End file.
